The Dark Side of the Moon
by RatherBeAWriter
Summary: "Spencer Reid, you are under arrest for the rape and attempted murder of Parker Strauss." He should have been able to explain; he should have been able to prove he would never hurt her. But he couldn't. Because, sometimes, even geniuses found themselves in situations they just didn't understand. Sequel to Ready or Not.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

**I know, I should have enough stories on the go, but this has been developing in my head for months and I really wanted to get it down and share the idea and see what people thought. Plus, I need to write something angsty after all the Christmas fluff! However, my other stories are very far from being abandoned and the next chapters are in progress at the moment!**

**Anyway, this is a sequel to Ready or Not. Reid is going to seem a little OOC to begin with, but that's intentional and part of the story. It will make sense as the story progresses. Whereas Ready or Not was from Parker's perspective a lot of the time, this one will be very Reid focussed. It's going to be quite dark and a lot of things won't be clear at first, but I hope you can trust me that I've really thought this one out and everything is for a reason.**

**If you haven't read Ready or Not then it might help for a full back story, but all you really need to know to follow this is that Parker is Strauss's niece and she's pretty messed up and traumatised, and Reid is the person she started to open up to,but as of the end of Ready or Not, they were just friends.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with Criminal Minds, but Parker, and any other OCs are mine.**

**I hope you like the idea/first chapter and please let me know what you think :)**

**/**  
**/**

How did that saying go? If you're going to play with fire you'll get your fingers burned?

They'd been setting flames and dancing through them for months now. Seven months to be exact. And so far they'd avoided the inevitable explosion, but it was always hanging over them. One careless spark and it would all burn down.

Tonight was no different to the others. They'd eaten dinner as a group - an attempt to unwind after a long week and a tense stand-off with their UNSUB. She'd been a little quiet, but she'd fixed a smile to her face as she sipped her wine and complimented Rossi for his excellent choice of restaurant. Upon returning to the hotel some of them had gone to the bar. When he'd said he was tired, she'd wished him a goodnight before taking her seat between Morgan and Prentiss.

It was two hours and twenty minutes later that he heard the familiar, soft knock at the door.

No words passed between them as he let her in and she unzipped the sweatshirt she'd thrown over her pyjamas. He took the book off his bed and set it on the bedside cabinet. She threw herself down amongst the pillows, and he sat beside her, taking hold of her hand and gently caressing her bruised knuckles.

She pulled him on top of her before he knew what was happening. Their lips crashed together, her teeth biting down and drawing blood in her eagerness to lose herself.

"Parker..." he breathed, pulling away and licking the metallic taste from his lip. They needed to slow down.

"It hurts," she pleaded. "Make it stop."

"Let me see," he instructed softly, though he knew she wasn't really talking about the physical pain of her latest injury.

With hesitant, shaking hands, she rolled up the bottom edge of her oversized T-shirt. His hand felt cold as it cautiously skimmed the blue and purple marled flesh above her ribs. She didn't flinch from his touch like she had from the paramedics who tried to examine her. Long after Campbell's wounds had healed, she still couldn't stand to be touched. Except by him.

She'd soon had enough of the tender moment and stretched her arms up, arching her back and removing the garment entirely.

Whatever he was about to say caught in his throat at the sight of her body. He knew every freckle, curve and scar by now, but it didn't stop him freezing for a moment every time she undressed.

By the time he'd recovered, she was tearing off his shirt.

"Parker," he said, uselessly, as once again, the part of his brain that knew this was going to do more harm than good in the long term tried to tell him to stop.

But that voice was quickly silenced, as his fingers moved to assist her in unfastening his pants.

He needed this as much as she did, no matter how he tried to convince himself it was her messed up desire that drove their arrangement. In fact, it was following his discovery of his mother's illness that they first slept together.

She pulled herself onto his lap, legs wrapped around him. She really wasn't wasting time tonight. Her nails dug into his back as they kissed. His kisses quickly slid from her lips to her neck as she tilted her head, directing him in their well rehearsed routine.

His teeth pressed hard against her skin and she gasped. It would leave a bruise she'd have to explain or hide in the morning, but that wasn't a concern for the present time.

They were together, and oblivious to all physical and psychological pain. That's all that mattered.

But for some reason, the voice that told him this was wrong, became louder.

His hands moved into a more platonic hold as he tried to pull their bodies apart.

"No," she muttered, grabbing onto him and pushing herself closer.

"Parker, we shouldn't be doing this," he sighed.

"No," she muttered again. "Stop it!" Her voice became louder as he untangled his legs from hers and rolled off of her body. "No!" She shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. "_We_ need this," she whispered.

"We could talk about what happened today," he suggested. "It might be... healthier."

"I don't want to talk," she mumbled, climbing off the bed and searching for her clothes.

"Just for a minute," he tried, not wanting her to leave more upset than when she'd arrived.

"No!" she snapped, grabbing her T-shirt and pulling it over her head. In the process, she stumbled forwards, knocking into the bedside cabinet. Her head bumped the corner and the lamp crashed to the floor.

"Parker!" he exclaimed, jumping up to help her and noticing the smear of blood she was wiping across her forehead.

"Get away from me!" she responded. She was embarrassed - she'd thrown herself at him and he'd brought it to an abrupt end. How could she have thought sleeping with a colleague would ever be a good idea? This thing they'd been doing was never going to last.

"Parker!" he called again, as she darted towards the door, giving up on finding the rest of her clothes.

"Leave me alone, Spencer!"

He wanted to follow after her; he wanted to apologise, even to take her back to bed if it would make her feel better. There was always tomorrow to break their dangerous habit.

But he was completely naked and, by the time his brain had grasped how to cover up, she'd slipped out into the hall, letting the door bang shut behind her.

Collapsing down on the end of the bed, he held his head in his hands and sighed. He'd really screwed this up, and he had no idea of how to make it better.

/  
/

It was six o'clock in the morning, Emily Prentiss was already in her running gear, and she was ready to kick her youngest team-mate's ass if she didn't get out of bed soon. The early morning run, before heading home, had been Parker's idea after all.

"Parker! If you don't get out here now, I'm going to smash the door in!" she shouted, only half joking.

Upon receiving no response, she sighed and shook her head. Why had she bothered getting up for this?

The scream from the stairwell quickly made her forget her annoyance at her colleague's tardiness. She ran in the direction of the noise, to be met by a distressed looking maid running in the other direction. The woman couldn't seem to get away from the stairs fast enough.

"What's wrong?" she asked, as the woman collided with her and gripped onto her arms.

"I think she's dead. She's not moving and there's so much blood!" the woman gushed.

As kindly as possible, Emily moved her to the side, entering the stairwell with a sickening sense of dread settling in her stomach. Instinct told her that she wasn't about to stumble on an unknown victim, and it didn't take long for her fears to be realised.

Sprawled out at the foot of the flight of stairs which lead to the next floor, like a discarded rag doll, was her missing friend. Emily crouched down, trying to avoid the pool of congealed blood, and pressed two fingers against Parker's neck. Her skin was cool to the touch and she felt the bile rise in her throat at the possibility the girl really was dead.

But then she felt the faint beat of a pulse - the only sign that her friend had a chance.

Pulling out her cellphone, she dialled 911.

"I need an ambulance," she demanded, begging the young agent to hold on a little longer and frantically trying to piece together an explanation of what had happened.

/  
/

Spencer woke early from a restless sleep. He glanced around the room and was instantly reminded of the previous night by the broken lamp. Deciding it was better to try to make amends before the flight home, he reached for his cell and dialled her number. He should have known he'd only get her voicemail.

"Parker, I'm really sorry about last night. I didn't mean... I'm just... I'm sorry. Please call me or if you don't want to speak just now then I'll see you on the jet." He hesitated, unsure how to end the message; it wasn't like he had much experience of making such calls. "Bye," he added, awkwardly and quickly, before hanging up.

While waiting on her response he took a quick shower and got dressed, tidying the hotel room as he went. He found her underwear at the foot of the bed and sighed as he thought of how upset she'd been.

When his phone rang he pounced on it straight away, without checking the identity of the caller. He was immediately unsettled by the sound of Hotch's voice, and by the time the reason for his call became clear he felt so nauseous that he struggled to make it to the end of the brief conversation.

Moments after hanging up, he sprinted to the bathroom and vomited. As he splashed cold water over his face, his regret focussed on one particular decision from the previous night.

Why hadn't he gone after her?

/  
/

"Prentiss? Have you heard anything?" Hotch asked, as he and the others joined Emily at the hospital.

Emily was pacing a quiet area of the waiting room, with her arms folded across her chest. It was obvious her tough exterior had been shaken and she was chewing her lip anxiously. Hotch's question pushed her close to breaking.

"She has a serious head injury. She's lost a lot of blood and her CT scan shows some brain swelling," she answered, doing everything she could to compose herself.

"What else?" Hotch asked, noticing that Emily was holding something back.

"There are bruises on her neck - teeth marks," she explained. "And she was only wearing a T-shirt. No underwear."

A sickening look of realisation struck the faces of the whole team.

"She was sexually assaulted?" Hotch asked for confirmation.

Emily nodded, struggling to look directly at her boss.

"That's what the doctors think," she replied.

As the team's horrified silence continued, Spencer turned even paler than the rest. JJ reached out and squeezed his hand, knowing how hard he took it when one of their own was injured. He felt his palm sweating beneath her grip, as he contemplated the months of deception that would now be revealed. They were supposed to be his family and he'd been lying to them about one of the most significant aspects of his life for the better part of a year.

"Spence, she's tough," JJ reassured him, growing concerned at his peculiar expression.

All Spencer could think of was the feeling of Parker's skin under his lips and fingertips; their bodies intertwined and leaving all kinds of traces. The bruises - had they been caused by him? It was a worrying fact that he could only hope so.

She had to be okay; that fight couldn't be it.

But it dawned on him that he didn't have the luxury of simply waiting and wishing and hoping for her survival and a chance to apologise.

Her body was covered in his DNA. They'd had sex a matter of hours before. And no one else knew that there was nothing unusual in that turn of events.

The others made a move to find seats in a quieter part of the waiting room, but Spencer cleared his throat with a nervous cough and approached his boss. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead and his sweater vest felt oddly too tight. Guilt quickly mingled with his anxiety: she could be dying and he was worried about getting into trouble with their unit chief.

"Hotch?" he croaked, forcing himself to swallow and clear his throat once again, allowing his dry mouth to form words. "There's something I need to tell you."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for reading, following, favouriting and reviewing the first chapter. I've never written a fic like this one before so I'm kind of anxious to see how it goes down. I hope you like the next chapter. I can't wait to properly launch into writing this story!**

**/**  
**/**

"How long?" Hotch demanded, his expression stern but his tone level.

After much spluttering, stammering and apologising Reid had managed to reveal the nature of his relationship with Parker to the other man.

"Since my mom's heart attack," he responded, staring at his feet like a child being told off by a parent.

"Did you use a condom last night?" Hotch asked bluntly, trying to ascertain exactly what his colleague would be dealing with when the police gathered their evidence.

Reid flushed red at the intrusion and even redder as he replied.

"No," he mumbled quietly, feeling like an irresponsible teenager.

Hotch sighed, resisting the urge to lecture his subordinate. Reid was one of the most intelligent people he'd ever met but it seemed that his judgement had been heavily clouded in recent months. There was a second blow in the fact that Hotch himself had been oblivious to what had been going on right under his nose.

"Did she shower before she left your room?" he continued. The line of questioning made him feel like a defence lawyer, picking out the evidential weaknesses in a rape victim's case.

"No," Spencer responded, immediately picturing the moment she had walked away with excruciating clarity. "I... Well...We had an argument," he mumbled.

"Don't tell me anything more," Hotch responded, as he thought of the evidence that could be mounting up against the agent. The police would look straight towards any sexual partners or men in Parker's life to find a suspect and, from the outside, Reid was a perfect fit. He didn't want to put himself in the position where he could end up being forced to testify against a friend. He hoped that kind of thinking only came from his past as a prosecutor. It surely wouldn't come to that.

"Hotch... I..."

"Go and sit with the others. Don't say a word about this - I'll tell them what they need to know. Tell the police that you and Parker have been having a relationship but don't say another word to them without a lawyer."

Reid opened his mouth to ask one of the many questions spinning in his head but found he couldn't focus on just one.

"I have a friend from law school who lives in the area. I'll give him a call."

"Thank you," Spencer told him, grateful that Hotch was trying to help.

Hotch nodded, wishing he could do something more but also wanting to tear into Reid for lying and risking his career. As the agent's boss he was angry, but as a friend he was also upset to have been kept in the dark.

"I didn't..."

"I know you didn't do it," Hotch assured him, momentarily softening. "But what possessed the two of you to sleep together?"

Spencer was unsure whether an answer was expected of that question, but either way, he said nothing. It wasn't like he knew how to answer.

/  
/

It seemed strange to be returning to the others, already feeling guilty for what he had concealed for so long, and yet still continuing to lie.

"Everything okay?" Morgan asked, as a shaken looking Reid took a seat among their group.

Reid nodded, giving his friend a fleeting smile which only lasted as long as it took his lips to form the expression. He stared at the tiled floor in front of him, picking out patterns amongst the worn and faded vinyl. All eyes were on him, questioning his strange behaviour in a way which was only marginally less intrusive than Hotch's interrogation. But he couldn't say anything to them to make it stop, because he wouldn't lie to them any more than he had to. And now, telling them the truth would only draw them into the mess he had inadvertently created.

She'd know what to do and that made it so much worse. Because if it was somehow the other way round - if he was unconscious from a brain injury, having his body examined and swabbed under a fluorescent light - then she wouldn't be staring at the ground. She'd be kicking up hell, demanding to know what leads the police had. Everyone would already know about their relationship and she'd probably be giving them a look that dared them to report her for breaching anti-fraternization rules. Because she'd never seen it as a dirty secret; she simply believed other people's opinions were irrelevant.

But her recklessness wasn't necessarily something he admired. It only resulted from the fact she didn't trust anyone enough to consider the consequences of lying to them. She should probably have been spending more time in therapy and less in bed with a colleague.

"The rule against profiling each other applies doubly if we're screwing," she'd told him, bluntly, when he'd voiced his concerns. "Spencer, I like being with you, isn't that enough?"

He'd agreed that it was. And it wasn't like they were hurting anyone - they could always do their job the next day. He'd told himself that it was safer than other releases. She wasn't getting drunk and picking up strangers in bars and he wasn't crouched in the corner of his bathroom with a vial of dilaudid in his fist. It was easy to rationalise their behaviour when he put it like that.

Hotch had rejoined the group before he next raised his head. The older agent gave him a look which confirmed the lawyer had been called and to stick to what they agreed.

Moments later, the male detective exited the trauma room, clutching the sealed evidence bag in his hands. Hotch nodded when his eyes caught Reid's once again. It was time to confess his secret to someone else.

"Excuse me, Detective," Spencer called, getting to his feet and amazing himself that he didn't stumble and fall to the floor in his hurry.

The man turned around, realising it was one of the victim's colleagues that had spoken. It somehow made this case hit harder that it was a fellow member of law enforcement who had been attacked.

"How can I help you, Agent?" he asked.

"I... Err, Can we speak in private?" Reid stammered, well aware that the others were watching his every move.

The detective nodded, a sinking feeling already settling in his stomach. They walked around the corner, just out of earshot and sight of the waiting area.

"Agent Strauss and I were... together," he informed the man, without any further delay.

"Romantically?" he questioned.

He nodded, though romance was something that had rarely crossed his mind. Friendship, comfort and lust were all a part of what had drawn them into each other's arms. But romance had nothing to do with it.

"Were you with her last night?"

Another reluctant nod answered the question. He wondered if he was now skirting the point where he needed to consult a lawyer before opening his mouth. It disgusted him that he was thinking that way while she was fighting for her life. But he knew how it would look to anyone who didn't know him, and perhaps to some who did. If there was one thing he could do now, it was to follow Hotch's advice.

The detective sighed internally. He really didn't want to investigate a fed for attacking a team-mate, but he suspected that as soon as the rape kit had been processed, he'd be hauling the skinny agent in for questioning.

"What's your name?"

"Spencer Reid."

"I'll need to speak to you later," he informed him trying not to get off to too confrontational a start. "Don't go anywhere, Spencer Reid."

/  
/

By evening they'd moved from the chaos of the ER to the quiet of a family room next to the neurological ICU. She was being kept heavily sedated in the hope her brain would heal. There was a surgical team on standby should her inter-cranial pressure rise to a dangerous level, but for the time being all that could be done was to wait. And though it sickened him that his friend's health wasn't the only focus of his attention, Spencer was waiting for more than an update on her condition.

He barely noticed when JJ switched his cold cup of coffee for one that was fresh and warm. She squeezed his arm before returning to her seat next to Emily and he didn't know if it was meant to be a gesture of comfort, or just an attempt to draw him out of his trance like state. The team were acting oddly, and he wondered if Hotch had told them anything. It wasn't unusual for them to be quiet in a situation where they were waiting for news on an injured colleague, but this time there were almost no verbal exchanges taking place at all. There were however, plenty of shared looks, shrugged shoulders and raised eyebrows. None of which were directed at Reid.

Just before ten o'clock, the door opened to reveal the detective from earlier, and, going by the shield on her belt, his partner.

"Doctor Reid?" the detective addressed him, drawing the attention of everyone in the claustrophobic room. "Can you stand up please?"

He did as he was told and the female detective approached and carefully took his gun from its holster.

"Do you have any other weapons?" she asked, frisking him without even waiting for an answer. Spencer shook his head in a delayed response.

"Spencer Reid, you are under arrest for the rape and attempted murder of Parker Strauss." She took hold of his wrists and pulled them roughly behind his back.

He tried to avoid looking at the team. He didn't want to see them; didn't want to risk seeing the doubt in their faces. The police had to believe they had a strong case if they were going straight for arrest rather than suggesting a more informal chat.

"You have the right to remain silent."

He felt the cold metal of the handcuffs against his skin and the full reality of what was happening struck him.

"Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

The detective was turning him around, ready to march him past his friends.

"You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning."

Should he wait for his lawyer or should he just explain what had happened? He'd done nothing wrong after all. At least not legally. But he would arrest someone on a lot less evidence. His DNA was all over her body. _In_ her body. Her blood was on the cabinet in his room and her underwear was in his go-bag. And that was all before their fight was taken into consideration. Could it be that they'd already found out about that? How much did they know?

Even his thoughts made him seem guilty.

"If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you."

He dared a glance back towards Hotch, looking for some hint as to what he should do. He'd spent years trying to convince the team that he could stand on his own two feet, but now he was doubting his ability to do so.

"Samuel Kennedy will meet you at the precinct," the steady voice of his unit chief assured him. "It's going to be okay."

As their increasingly paling colleague was taken out of the room in handcuffs, the team gradually turned their eyes towards their leader. He'd promised an explanation of what was going on as soon as he could tell them. They were pretty sure now was the time.

"What the hell just happened?" Morgan demanded, while three other pairs of eyes expressed the exact same sentiment.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for reading, reviewing, following and favouriting. It's taken me a while but I've finally got the next chapter ready. Hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think. **

/  
/

Spencer sat anxiously at the table in the interrogation room, knowing the detectives were on the other side of the glass, letting him stew. His lawyer had stepped out for a coffee or to consult with another client on the phone. He didn't really care what the man was doing. Samuel Kennedy embodied everything there was to despise about lawyers. He was overweight and red-faced from years of over-indulgence and proceeded on the assumption that his client was guilty but that there was a way to make the victim look guiltier. He could tell that it was no coincidence that Hotch didn't make a point of staying in touch with this old classmate.

Against Kennedy's advice, he'd submitted to a medical examination and allowed his body to be processed for evidence. He'd stood shivering in the cold, bright room while the medical examiner scraped under his nails and swabbed the scratches on his back, and more intimate places, leaving him feeling more exposed than he ever had in his life. Now clothed in ill-fitting police issued sweats, and with the taste and sensation of the material used to take a dental impression lingering in his mouth, he could do nothing but wait for his opportunity to explain why their "evidence" would lead them no closer to the person who had attacked Parker.

"I'm sure I don't need to remind you of your right to remain silent," his lawyer had told him, patronisingly. "Use it."

But Spencer struggled with the prospect of sitting quietly while the detectives twisted his friendship or relationship, or whatever label could be attached, into a crime. He hadn't hurt her; not in the way he had been accused. What good was there in hiding the truth?

"You'd be better leaving your fancy ideas of truth to the philosophers," Kennedy had mocked. "My job's just to stop you becoming someone's shower time bitch."

Before he had any further opportunity to think on how much he disliked the defence attorney, the man returned, closely followed by the two detectives.

"Take a seat, Doctor Reid," the male detective instructed, causing Spencer to realise that, at some point, he had got to his feet. Flustered and feeling a sudden flash of fear, he collapsed down onto the hard chair.

"Can I get you some water, Doctor?" the female officer asked with forced gentleness. "Or something to eat? It's been hours since you arrived."

Spencer shook his head, unable to form words in his dry mouth. The detective ignored his answer, and pushed a bottle of water across the table. He imagined that if she was with a victim, her motherly nature would be genuine. But right now she was playing one part of their good cop, bad cop routine.

"Thank you," he mumbled, in a gesture of politeness which was too ingrained in his personality to be affected by everything that was going on.

He was allowed a sip of water before the interrogation began.

"So, Doctor," the man began, in a tone that belittled Spencer's title. "Would you care to tell us what happened last night?"

Kennedy looked at him, warning him to think carefully before anything left his mouth. He found himself struggling his wish to tell the truth and his innate need for self-preservation.

"How about something easier? Can you describe the nature of your relationship with Parker Strauss?"

The detective was leaning over the table, no doubt trying to appear both intimidating and casual.

"We're friends," Spencer answered, realising how inappropriate the word seemed to be after everything that had happened between them.

"Friends?" the detective repeated with the trace of a smirk. "Did you have a sexual relationship?"

"Yes," he responded in the same embarrassed mumble he had used with Hotch.

"So you're screwing her?" He raised his eyebrows, almost mocking the response.

"We've had... We sometimes... I..." he stammered, struggling to find an appropriate answer to the question.

"Are you screwing her?" the detective demanded, punctuating his words by drumming his fist across the table.

"Yes," Spencer mumbled quietly, catching the look of despair on his lawyer's face as he spoke.

"When did that start?"

"When did what start?" The question left Spencer's mouth like some sort of reflexive need to match the fast pace of the questioning.

The detective sighed. He thought this guy was meant to be a genius.

"When was the first time you had sex with your colleague?" he asked, speaking slowly and deliberately.

"It was after my mother suffered a heart attack," Spencer replied, with the resignation that he was going to provide a full explanation. He'd worked on the right side of the law for too long to intentionally hinder an investigation. Especially when Parker was the victim.

Kennedy shook his head and let out an audible sigh. If his client wanted to damage his chances of walking away from this then that was his prerogative. He got his fee either way, and it wasn't his fault if the man was willing to throw away his career and liberty over some girl.

Spencer however had a renewed sense of confidence in what he was doing. He had nothing to hide and that was what he forced to the front of his mind as he concentrated on the memory which would provide the impatient detective with an answer. To that one question at least.

/  
/

It was the beginning of September, but the heat of the summer was still unrelenting. She'd been back at work for a few weeks and they'd been sleeping at his apartment for twice as long. It stopped her nightmares and he found that, for the first time in years, he could sleep through the night. Comfort. Someone to hold onto when it got too much. That was all it was, but it was all they needed.

They'd been working a local case, but the hours were just as long as if they'd been out of state. He was making himself a coffee, taking a breather from the gruesome images the killer was posting online, when his phone rang.

"Hello," he answered, puzzled by the unknown number.

"Is that Doctor Spencer Reid?" the caller asked.

"It is, can I ask who's calling?"

"I'm Sarah Turner. I'm one of your mother's nurses at the Bennington."

He felt his heart rate quicken.

"I'm afraid your mother's been admitted to the hospital."

He placed the coffee cup on the counter, worrying he would drop it if he kept it in his hands.

"Is she okay?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice level.

"She's suffered a minor heart attack," the nurse explained.

He tried to comprehend the concept of minor and heart attack being used in the same sentence but it wasn't something his brain found easy to process.

"She's stable just now and her doctor is optimistic. We'll need to speak to you about her medication regime and future treatment options at the first possible opportunity," she continued. "Will you be able to fly out to visit?"

"I, emm, I don't know. We have a case at the moment." He wasn't sure why he said that. Hotch wouldn't keep him in the office a second longer if he found out what had happened. Rossi would probably pay to get him on the next possible flight. And there would be no shortage of offers of support.

But leaving wasn't the issue; it was what he would face at the other end of the flight. His mother was supposed to be a stable constant amongst the chaos of the travel and horror in his life. He had learned how to deal with her mental health, but the thought that some other illness could threaten the only real family he had was something he'd never allowed himself to consider.

"Are you making one for me?" Parker called cheekily as she entered the room, not noticing that he held his cellphone to his ear.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I'll be in touch as soon as I can," he told the nurse, hurriedly ending the call. His colleague's appearance had provided him with the perfect opportunity to avoid committing to travelling home to face the threat.

Parker's face was contorted into an apologetic grimace as he turned round and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"I didn't realise you were talking to someone," she said, hoping she hadn't been the reason for the abrupt end to his conversation.

"It was nothing," he insisted, trying to limit her opportunity to work out that something was wrong "Regular or decaf?" he asked, teasingly. Their shared caffeine dependency had been substantial factor in the foundations of their friendship and the butt of many jokes. But right now he could hardly maintain the half smile he'd forced onto his lips.

He quickly turned away and retrieved her favourite mug, focussing on pouring the freshly brewed coffee from the pot. It was only when the hot liquid came into contact with his hand that he realised his concentration had failed him.

"Spencer!" she gasped, taking charge of the situation.

Before he knew what was happening, the mug had been discarded on the counter and his hand thrust under the tap. The cold water provided instant relief from the burning pain but it couldn't hide the fact he was shaking. With her fingers wrapped around his forearm, she could feel every tremble.

"What's going on?" she asked, her voice gentler and warmer than he'd ever heard it before.

"My mom had a heart attack," he answered, surprising himself with how easily the news slipped from his mind to the quiet room. "She's okay; I think. I just... I don't think I can..."

She squeezed his arm.

"What do you need?"

"Quiet," he replied. He couldn't face the sympathy of their other friends. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate it; it was just that it could be overwhelming at times. And she knew first hand just how that felt.

"Keep your hand under the water," she instructed, her voice still soft as her fingers lingered close to his wrist. "I'll let Hotch know you're going home."

It was then that he realised she knew him better than he'd ever have guessed. She'd picked up on his fears when he couldn't even find the words to describe them. She understood that he needed to go home and read and research rather than surround himself with people. But more than that, it didn't bother her.

/  
/

Later that evening, they were washing up the dishes from dinner in his apartment. They'd discussed his mother and spoken on the phone to her doctor about treatment options. But while the initial shock had faded, his mind still spun with all these new concerns, and he couldn't even try to hide his distress from his serious face.

"Hey, it's going to be okay, Spencer," she assured him, running one hand up and down his arm, from his shoulder to his elbow. "Your mom's going to get through this."

They were far from being tactile people, but for the second time in one day he was very aware of her comforting touch. And now, she was standing close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath as she spoke. A shiver ran down his spine as she pulled him into a hug and her other hand came to rest halfway up his back.

"You hanging in there?" she questioned with a crooked smile, when she pulled away and he simply stared back at her.

In a moment of madness, brought about the animalistic firing of neurons and surging of hormones, he leaned forward and kissed her. Their lips only joined for a fraction of a second, before they jolted apart, but it was enough that there was no denying the gesture.

"Spencer..." she breathed.

"I shouldn't..." he began. He didn't know what had overcome him; he'd never acted like that before. Not since Lila, but even then, it had been her that was distressed and impulsive, not him. Of course, he could understand the chemical processes behind his actions but that didn't mean he didn't feel like he was losing control.

Before any more of an apology could leave his mouth she had pressed her lips back against his. This time they were ready. Her fingers tightened around his skinny arm, and his hands found their way to her waist. It amazed him that his body knew exactly what it was doing even if his brain was several steps behind. Her tongue slipped over his front teeth and then hesitated as though she was waiting for some indication of permission. He gave it in the slight pressure he applied.

"You're upset," she reminded him, when they finally came up for air.

He was. There was no denying that. But the longer her hands traced over his chest and her body arched towards him, the more his worries gave way to arousal. The electric buzz which was silencing his thoughts was all consuming.

"And you're Spencer," she murmured, as their eyes locked together.

He'd never noticed how many colours merged in her irises before. Had they always looked like that? Or was it just the distorting effect of her dilated pupils?

His breathing was heavy and fast as they hesitated with their lips only centimetres apart.

"This can only be sex," she whispered, so close that he tasted her words rather than hearing them.

He nodded, as their combined strength lifted her onto the counter. She took his hand and guided it under her shirt and against her soft skin. As the barrier that the thin layer of cotton had provided was breached, he knew they had crossed a line from which there was no going back.

But in that moment, he simply didn't care.

/  
/

"So you fucked her on the kitchen counter instead of visiting your sick mother?" the detective enquired, confirming his interpretation.

"I flew out to see my mom the next day," Spencer answered quietly, feeling his last flicker of hope die.

Kennedy only just managed to prevent his expression from screaming "I told you so".

A knock on the glass of the one-way mirror signified that someone in the precinct had news for the detectives.

"You just take it easy for a minute, Doctor. We'll be right back."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you for reading, reviewing, following and favouriting - I hope you're still hanging on! I can't believe it's been two months since I updated this one but this semester hasn't been conducive to getting lots of writing done. However out of nowhere tonight, I got over my block on this chapter. I hope you like it. And I really hope to get back into regular updates soon!**

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"Have you ever fought with Parker before?"

The next question hung in the room before Spencer had a chance to rethink his strategy from his last mistake. In desperation his eyes searched for those of his lawyer. The accompanying feeling of shame caused his nausea to increase.

"My client doesn't have to answer that. Or any of your questions," Kennedy remarked, smugly.

"Spencer, every couple has arguments," the female detective took over from her male counterpart, ignoring the fact the lawyer had even spoken. "We just want to understand your relationship and what happened last night. Do you fight a lot or was it just a one off?"

Spencer took a sip from his bottle of water, fighting the urge to scream at them that they were wasting their time. Whether he had a temper was of no consequence to finding out who had left her in that hospital bed. And it seemed they were purposefully taunting him by refusing to reveal what news had drawn them from the room moments before.

"Please," he mumbled, struggling to steady his voice. "You need to find who did this."

"Then answer our questions," the male detective urged.

Did they fight? Spencer asked himself the question, thinking of every time she'd wanted Chinese food and he'd wanted Indian, or when she'd turned off a Star Trek marathon to get his attention.

"We don't argue any more than the average couple," he told them, realising how easily the word "couple" had slipped from his mouth. It certainly hadn't gone unnoticed by the officers. As they shared a look of minor triumph, his mind suddenly recalled the only other real argument he could remember. It wasn't a night he wanted to think of and it certainly wasn't one he was about to share.

/  
/

It had been a month since she returned to work and he'd known she should have been taken off the case they'd been working on. The victims had been mutilated with the blade of a penknife, prior to death. He hadn't missed the way her hand had come to rest on her chest as they discussed the photos before flying out to Kansas.

She'd been quiet the whole time they'd been away. And on the last night she didn't even creep through to his room after everyone else was asleep. She avoided him on the jet back to Virginia, and then she didn't show up for work the next day.

"She just needs a day or two," Morgan assured him. "Hotch isn't worried so you shouldn't be either."

He'd nodded and returned to his stack of paperwork, but as soon as the day was over, he headed straight for her apartment.

The lingering scent of stale alcohol permeated every room as he let himself into her run down home. It had improved slightly since she first moved to DC - at least she had a proper bed now. But it was far from being homely. Not that it mattered; she rarely slept there.

"Parker?" he called, stepping over the smashed up pieces of a vase. He knew she shouldn't have been alone the previous night.

Following the draft which blew through from the kitchen, he found her sitting on the counter at the window. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and she was leaning out into the fall evening, blowing smoke from her mouth.

He didn't know where to begin. Her lungs had suffered permanent damage from Campbell's attack - she knew better than to do anything which could aggravate their condition. Not to mention that the distinct smell from the smoke gave away that it wasn't tobacco rolled up in the paper. And the bottle of vodka at her side did not go well with the antidepressants she was supposed to be taking.

"Go home, Spencer," she muttered coolly, not taking her eyes off of the urban skyline.

"I could arrest you," he responded, at a loss of anything useful to say. He'd never experienced such a strong and simultaneous sensation of anger and compassion. After his way of dealing with the aftermath of his abduction by Hankel, he couldn't judge anyone's coping mechanisms. "Possession of marijuana is a misdemeanor in the District of Columbia."

"Then do it," she dared, snapping her head around to face him through her red and empty eyes.

"I... I don't want to," he replied, stammering over his words as he was caught off-guard by her aggression. His expression slowly changed, softening as compassion triumphed over anger. He'd seen her hooked up to wires and tubes in the hospital and he'd seen her drink herself into a state where she couldn't even take care of herself. But this was something else. He'd never seen her so erratic or spiralling so far out of control.

She stared at him, as his eyes became full of what she interpreted as pity, and he started to look at her like some sad puppy.

"I can't do this," she muttered, sliding off the counter, and storming straight past him. One hand was tightly wrapped around the neck of the vodka bottle, while the other held the joint between trembling fingers.

"Do what?" he called after her, confused as to what he'd done that she couldn't face.

"I don't want your pity; I never wanted your pity!" she shouted, growing irrationally frustrated by his every word and gesture.

"I'm not pitying you. I understand," he began, only to be met with a scoff.

"I am not like you," she spat, her own hurt causing her to lash out. It was as though she'd be able to breathe again if he felt that painful self-loathing too. "I'm not about to go and shoot up just because I had a bad day."

A second of echoing silence hung between them before he spoke.

"I should have remembered the Strauss family preferred more traditional means of intoxication," he retorted, his words leaving his mouth before he could think, spurred on by the shock of her outburst. "Do you know that I believed you when you told me you weren't like Erin?"

Without warning she threw the bottle against the wall, her wild eyes barely reacting as it smashed, and fragments of glass scattered around the room. Stepping backwards, she trampled over several shards causing her feet to leave smears of blood as she paced the floor.

"Get out," she told him, her voice low and trembling.

He knew she shouldn't have said that. Her words might have been even more hurtful, but she was the one that needed looking after. She was the one who was high and drunk and bent into an unrecognisable form by unimaginable trauma. He might have been able to recall how that felt as though it was yesterday, but she was the one who was hurting right at that moment.

"Get out, Spencer," she warned again, the crimson marks on the floor becoming more prominent and her tears making tracks through the black smudges which were once make-up.

If he'd been stronger then he'd have stayed. If he hadn't let her jibe about his dilluadid use sting as though she'd actually injected him with the drug, he'd have cleaned up her feet and taken her away from her trashed apartment. He'd have held her as she showered in the bathroom which was much too small for two, and then wrapped her in the blankets she had picked out for his bedroom. But the venom of her angry words was in his veins and he couldn't ignore it.

That night was the first time he left her alone, bleeding and hurt. Anyone would think he'd have learned from his mistake.

/  
/

The detectives glanced at each other, wondering if their tactics were working too well at breaking the agent. He'd been staring vacantly towards the one-way mirror for the best part of a minute and showed no sign of rejoining the real world anytime soon.

"Doctor Reid?" the female asked, coming the closest to compassion that she had since his arrest. "Are you okay?"

Spencer blinked, shaking his head slightly as he turned towards her. He'd heard her voice but had no idea what she'd said.

"Do you need to take a break?"

He hadn't even had time to process the question before his lawyer responded.

"I think that would be for the best," he replied, waiting expectantly for the detectives to get up and leave. The cogs of his brain were turning as he considered how he could use his client's apparent weak mental state to their advantage.

With some reluctance the woman, and then the man, slowly stood from their seats. Spencer gained control of his words just in time to stop them before they opened the door.

"Please, " he croaked, clearing his throat before he continued. "Have you heard any news from the hospital?"

The woman, showing a look of genuine sympathy which wasn't part of an interrogation tactic, nodded slowly. Her partner looked as though he was about to stop her, but changed his mind at the last minute.

"She's off the ventilator and breathing on her own," she said.

And despite everything that was going on, Spencer felt like he was also able to breathe again.


End file.
